Lyrics:
Uncle Sam get out the way I don't care so hand the number
to my pager watchin for weasels, but still take good care of my PEOPLE
Keep handlin my
honeymoon without the marriage vows
I fuck with some street killers and D dealers
We out to market everything, even 3 wheelers
I fuck with some blunt
up Its Cashin
Run It Up Its Dashin
Yea Yea
You Know I Got it baby
Pull up to church in a Bentley
Right in the front
Parked right by the preacher
I
Boy, go suck your father, your mother
Your auntie, your uncle, your
Sister, your brother, your bombaclaat niece
Knock your and rest in peace
Dark
myself, no trust into them
Took a L but when I'm off tag, fuckries again
Uncle said he quit smoking, he a junkie again
Now he can't touch my food, he'll
wealth mean
I swear to god I be different from niggas
Grew up wit hustlers my father that nigga
Uncle a menace my cousins they killers
My cousin got
got blammed
Official killer, I'll do it on it cam
Tax on that work, call me Yayo Uncle Sam
HoodFame USA, shoot you in your face
Sip so much lean,
youngins is flockin' around christmas time
Where the killers do be clappin'
Gettin' snatched, 'cause truly happened
We just happy that we made it this
the dope dick all the bad bitches talk about
She feel my nose ring, when I eat it, I'ma turn her out
Already know my figures, OHB the pussy killers
With
cyy, always moving with a bounce
Scaling baggies by the ounce
Table filled with large amounts
Hard to even keep count, yeah
Check the interior, nothing's
G'ed up (G'ed up)[02:03.21]Surrounded by some killers that say that I'm B'ed up (Oh)[02:06.18]That hoe want know how she could leave her man and free up
pops off
Then we'll be side-by-side, obvy
I wish you all the best
But that's never life's story
Cos if Whitney was the moral
How would you define Bobby?
Man, somebody would've heard her
Evidence was never cleared
That shit to me was out of order
News called you a killer
Never said you had a daughter
Never
left Gary, spent sixty, huh, huh
Paid for it all blues, RIP nipsey, huh
Diors on my feet, in high
School, was Ken Griffeys, Huh
My uncle showed me how
American
Accents by accident b
Batter babbling battlers with a
Bag of batteries
Ban these bias blaggers because
They're badly backwards b
Batty bible bashers
boy
I lost everything in life but my soul boy
That's why I'll never ever rap
Like a dope boy
Survived killers with AK's and grenades in
A rage at my
Five percent president with my other girl
Weavin' through traffic, can't be spotted by my other girl
She gon' go crazy, the love turn into hatin'
worse.
You've been instructed by sentences in each
Verse featured to suck you into a world invented to see you bleed first. My brutal rhyme is running
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